


Placebo Effect

by Bagheera



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagheera/pseuds/Bagheera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accidental soulbonding with a twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Placebo Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009, betaed by x_los.

Among the many, varied and successful export articles of Miasimia Goria, the pebbles were only a tiny niche market. They were sold mostly to tourists and credulous hobby anthropologists, and their real purpose was not profit, but to create an ethnic identity for a society that was engineered up from the tiniest molecules. The market analysts said it was a good strategy, and since they had literally been bred to do their job, they were probably right. Various purposes were ascribed to different varieties of the small flat stones - from glittering talismans to fat green fertility enhancers, they covered the whole range of pseudo-magical knick-knacks. In truth, the stones were not even stones, but a form of hardened plastic, and had indeed not been hand-painted in their gaudy rainbow colours by Miasimian shamans, but were mass-produced in clean factories by an army of highly competent factory workers.

The Master, wandering aimlessly through a flea-market for psychic artefacts a few planets away from Miasimia Goria, did not suspect any of this. He picked up the pebble only out of idle curiosity, and a penchant for shiny things that had got him into trouble more than once.

"Oh no!" gasped the heavily accented salesman in a moment of entrepreneurial inspiration. "You shouldn't have touched that!"

Eyes widening, the Master quickly put down the pebble, but the salesman shied away from it. "No, no, you must hold on to it, Sir. Oh, how careless of me to leave it lying about like this!"

*

"No, don't - "

The Doctor whirled around at the Master's gasp, still holding the uncharacteristically colourful trinket he had found on the Master's TARDIS console. It seemed to have no purpose other than to distract him from stealing the Master's dematerialisation circuit, and it had achieved that long enough for the Master to follow him.

But the Master didn't look relieved to have caught him. Instead, his face had paled, and he picked up the pebble like a fragile infant, his hands shaking slightly. Holding it, he stared at the Doctor, who couldn't remember ever having seen the Master look quite so desperate. "How unlike you, to leave things lying around that you don't want to be seen," the Doctor said and quirked a brow in amusement. "It's not that embarrassingly tasteless, you know."

"You fool," the Master whispered tonelessly. "You've no idea what you've done."

*

The Brigadier's eyebrow merely twitched, and then his face turned perfectly laconic again. "Doctor," he said, and made it sound like a military rank, and a low one at that. "Would you care to explain - - this?"

They were standing in the doorway to the Doctor's laboratory, the Brigadier in the hall, and the Doctor inside the lab. At one of the lab tables, a familiar figure in a grey Nehru suit was puttering around with (probably classified) UNIT equipment. At the sight of the Brigadier, the Master gave a jaunty, ironic wave and returned to his business, whatever that might be.

"There's a small situation the Master and I have to figure out - nothing that needs to concern you." Nothing to see here, carry on, dismissed, the Brigadier translated. If only the Doctor had bothered to look embarrassed, apologetic or in the least bit threatened by the Master's presence. But no, he simply looked annoyed at the Brigadier's interruption. He had that insubordinate look on his face that sometimes gave the Brigadier sleepless nights, and that insouciant way of leaning against the doorjamb that somehow perfectly mirrored the Master's irreverent wave. But there were things the Brigadier was simply too prudent to do, and one of them was yelling at the Doctor, and another was trying to discipline him. His scientific advisor was an impossible man, and came with a bothersome entourage, but he was also completely irreplaceable.

"I'm still the one who decides what concerns me and what doesn't, thank you," the Brigadier replied, and since it was the only thing he could do, imitated the Doctor's light, ironic tone.

Something changed in the Doctor's calm front, shifted to discomfort. He palmed a small object, a cheerfully coloured rock of some sort, as he deliberated over his response. Past him, the Brigadier caught the Master, watching them alertly. "We had a small technological mishap," the Doctor finally answered. Judging by his tone, this translated into major disaster, possibly of inter-galactic proportions. "Thanks to which the Master and I currently need to stay within the same room if at all possible."

The Master, never one to hold back his commentary, moved closer. "I hate to correct you, my dear, but it was definitely not we who had an accident, since it was entirely your fault."

"Don't listen to him, Brigadier," the Doctor said, turning to face the Master. "I'm not the one who brought a dangerous artefact to Earth and left it lying around in his TARDIS for the first person to find."

"It would never have happened if you didn't insist on acting like a common thief!"

"Moral indignation doesn't suit you, my friend. And you knew perfectly well that I was going to get inside your TARDIS."

"Doctor, are you implying that I came here deliberately?"

Somehow, the Brigadier had the feeling that this argument had played out, in small variations, a few dozen times already. He cleared his throat, only barely wrestling the Doctor's attention away from his nemesis. "Where is this artefact of yours now? Does it pose any danger to Earth?"

The Doctor glanced at the painted pebble in his palm, absently stroking it with his thumb. "No, it's perfectly safe now. The trap's already been sprung, so to speak." He smiled, again attempting dismissal. "We'll have sorted this out within the week, I expect."

*

More than a week passed without anything getting sorted out. Instead, things settled down. The Master’s TARDIS stood in the Doctor’s console room, nestled into her host’s folded dimensions. Somehow, the Doctor’s TARDIS seemed livelier, less like a gutted shell, since the other TARDIS had arrived. The Doctor thoughtfully stroked the smooth surface of the Master’s time capsule.

“We won’t be able to separate them, if they stay like this much longer,” he said to the Master.

The Master’s steps were soft as he approached behind the Doctor. “I think it’s already too late. Can’t you feel them striking roots in each other?”

“I’ve never seen two TARDISes merging.” The Doctor didn’t explain that along with the secrets of the TARDIS, the Time Lords had taken some of his senses from him. He envied the Master a little, because it seemed like an important event for the TARDIS, and he would have liked to witness it.

The Master’s hand was a soft pressure on the Doctor’s shoulder. It slid to the nape of his neck, over the collar of his velvet jacket, touching skin. “If you’d let me...”

Despite his offer, the Master probably didn’t except the Doctor to agree to psychic contact. It was a line the Doctor had clearly drawn centuries ago, no longer trusting the Master not to change his mind, not to strike roots like the TARDIS. He'd never been sure what had come first: his own discomfort with how close the Master wanted to be, or the Master's damned lack of self-confidence which tempted the him to try and make sure that the Doctor would never leave him. In a way, the Doctor had had to leave, to make sure that he still could and that no psychic suggestion was controlling his actions. But now, a little painted pebble had relieved the Master of temptation. He no longer had any reason to doubt the Doctor's sincerity. The look of surprise on his face when the Doctor turned around and brought their lips together made the Doctor grin into the kiss.  
*

Having the Master around did not cause problems, as such. The man was capable of reigning in most of his nefarious impulses for much longer than anyone would have expected. And the Brigadier quietly appreciated the Master's love of exposition, because unlike the Doctor, he would actually explain what he was doing and why, and usually in understandable terms. Besides, having the Master working for them instead of against probably reduced about fifty percent of their work load.

But in the Master's presence, the Doctor didn't seem merely content - as opposed to dangerously depressed - but happy. And being happy made him quite formidable, like a caged tiger suddenly remembering the jungle. It changed the way he joked as well as the way he fought alien threats, gave it a special edge. The Brigadier had seen men suddenly grow into their full potential, or regaining it after a long slump in performance, but this was more. Some men became like this after first seeing action, and some when they met a woman: sharper and more alive, uncomfortable to watch.

The Brigadier willed himself deaf and blind when he walked through the corridors at UNIT HQ late at night. There wasn't really anything to hear: the lab was deserted and dark. Whatever was going on was going on behind the blue door of TARDIS. And through force of will, the Brigadier could pretend that it stayed there.

*  
"Look at them," Liz Shaw said, watching the Doctor and the Master have an argument over something scribbled on the black-board. "This is the first time I've ever seen him actually respect another person's opinion enough to argue with them like that. He certainly would never have treated me this way. And you really expect me to go in there and call their results into question? I'll do it, as a favour to you, but don't expect him to listen to me, Lethbridge-Stewart."

"All I want is an impartial opinion on the whole matter," the Brigadier responded.

Liz raised her brows. "You think he’s biased?"

A wry smile appeared on the Brigadier's face. "You'll see."

*

"I see," Dr. Shaw said, casting a private glance of amusement in the Brigadier's direction. She had examined the artefact in question, and now faced her audience with her meagre results. The Brigadier merely looked impatient to put an end to the matter. Jo Grant looked eager as well, but a lot less tense. The Doctor, on the other hand, stood by the lab table almost stiffly, his arms crossed in front of his chest. By his side, the Master looked unaccountably nervous. An odd man, Liz thought, just as damnably charming as the Doctor, and clearly as much of a genius - they could have been twin brothers, if fraternal ones. And yet, his courtesy seemed more disingenuous to her than the Doctor's ever had. Only when he spoke to the Doctor did it take on a painfully honest undercurrent.

"Well," Liz said, putting an end to the spectacle. "It's a piece of plastic. Painted with organic colours, non-allergenic. No traces of radiation or toxins or any kind of chemicals that could explain the kind of effect you describe."

"But that doesn't mean it couldn't work, does it?" Jo Grant was clearly a the-glass-is-half-full kind of person. Even when there was no water at all and the glass in question was a pile of shards. She picked up the pebble, smiling encouragingly at them. "I mean, science can't account for everything in the world. There's a lot of phenomena we don't understand yet, like auras and crop circles and ley-lines. All you need is a little faith, and you can almost feel the positive vibes coming off it!"

No one said anything in immediate reply, but the Brigadier raised a brow pointedly at the Doctor, his message clearly being so there, now do you accept that this is all rubbish? The Master, Liz noticed, did suddenly look doubtful and wretched. But the Doctor, to her surprise, did not see reason.

"We don't need faith to explain it, Jo," he said smugly, taking the pebble from her. "Human technology simply isn't advanced enough to understand our soul-bonding stone."

No one but Liz seemed to catch the look of naked relief, followed by surprise, on the Master's face. He hid both quickly enough, and she decided to keep it to herself.

*

Eventually, the Brigadier gave them leave.

"I can't harbour a criminal among my troops indefinitely," he told the Doctor. "I trust with his help you will get that machine of yours working again?"

A private smile escaped the Doctor. "You've harboured me for quite some time, Lethbridge-Stewart." It was all the thanks the Brigadier was going to get, he knew.

"Dismissed, Doctor," the Brigadier said dryly, before the Doctor could say more. Get out of my sight, man, before someone says something embarrassing. But then he reconsidered, and called the Doctor back. "You never really believed in that ridiculous charade, did you?"

Again, the Doctor smiled. "Ever heard of the placebo effect, Lethbridge-Stewart?"

The Brigadier gave him a mildly surprised look, but nodded.

The Doctor shook his head. "Whether I believe it or not doesn't matter. He does. Or he wants to, in any case."

And that was the crucial point. Even though their entire relationship was now built on a lie and a small piece of plastic, it didn't seem unfair to the Doctor. The Master had brought the soul-bonding stone to Earth with obvious intentions, and fallen into his own trap. Believing that they were now bound inextricably to each other, the Master was happy. His happiness had the positive side-effect of making him a shade less ambitious, since he no longer had to compensate for the humiliation of having been rejected. Being happy almost seemed to make him reasonable. If, for example, the Master demanded something unreasonable of the Doctor, like conquering the galaxy, and the Doctor threatened to leave him or stop him, there always came a moment when they lost their momentum. Leaving would kill us both, now that we're soul-bonded, the Doctor would say with a glance at the pebble, and the Master would admit that making demands the Doctor couldn't refuse wasn't very fair. As time passed, the stone grew in strength. It sat at the centre of a delicate web of lies and decisions based on them, which once interwoven grew into powerful truths. In the end, neither of them could wish to risk pulling even the smallest thread.


End file.
